


Unfavourable Outcome

by Axxor



Category: Worm - Wildbow
Genre: Abduction, Bad Ending, Mind Manipulation, Murder, Psychological Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-03-20 10:26:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3646848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Axxor/pseuds/Axxor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taylor Hebert is rescued from the locker.  This is a bad thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unfavourable Outcome

The police car slowed to a stop. Officer Francis O'Day picked up the microphone from the dash. “Base, this is Baker Three at Lonergan and Reeves, over?”  
  
“ _Baker Three, 10-3. That's near Winslow High, correct?”_  
  
“Base, that's an affirmative. I have a 10-25, single vehicle. Tourist bus, mounted the curb, nudged a telephone pole, over.”  
  
“ _Baker Three, 10-5 on your 10-25. Do you require assist, over?”_  
  
“Negative on that, Base. I'll 10-46 the driver, check for injured persons, over.”  
  
“ _Baker Three, 10-5, over.”_  
  
“Baker Three, out.”  
  
He tossed the mic back on to the dash and climbed out of the car. Popping the trunk, he removed the breathalyser kit, closed the trunk, and walked toward the passenger side of the bus. From caution, he kept his hand near his gun; from courtesy, he did not draw it.  
  
For this sort of thing, he really would have preferred to have a partner along, but budget cuts were budget cuts, and he knew the drill anyway.  
  
Walking alongside the bus, he noted that the paintwork showing the company logo was worn and pitted; he didn't think that this particular line ran as far as Brockton Bay.  
  
When he got to the front door of the bus, he took a moment to check on the status of the telephone pole. It seemed to have weathered the impact well enough; on the bus, one headlight was smashed, but that was all.  
  
Walking back to the door, he rapped on it with his knuckles. “Open up! Police!”  
  
As he waited, he tried to peer in through the glass, but the tinting defeated him.  
  
Then the door opened, folding back out of the way. He stepped up on to the first step, looking closely at the driver.  
  
The man was in his forties, O'Day guessed; he had a neatly trimmed moustache and beard, and wore a dress shirt. Not ideal clothing for driving a bus, but that didn't matter.  
  
“Good afternoon, sir,” he stated. “Would you mind explaining to me why you ran off the road and hit that pole?”  
  
The man smiled widely; his teeth were very white. “I'm very sorry, officer. A temporary loss of concentration. Would you like to see my license and registration?” He began to pat his pockets down.  
  
O'Day was frowning. This man reminded him of something. Of someone. He began to step back, his hand closing on his gun butt.  
  
“Oh, wait, sorry, here it is,” the driver told him cheerfully. The straight razor dropped into his palm and he flicked it open. A casual slash at empty air –  _Jack Slash,_  O'Day told himself far too late,  _that's Jack Slash –_  and O'Day felt his throat opening up. He fell backward, trying to fumble his pistol from the holster. He got it out, but the blood was spurting from between the fingers of his left hand as he held it over the horrific wound; more blood was running down his throat, choking him.  
  
One final, despairing attempt to aim the gun at the man who had killed him, and the fight was over. Officer O'Day was dead.  
  


<><>

  
Jack Slash closed the razor and slid it back into his sleeve. “Well then, poppet,” he told the blonde-haired child sitting in the seat behind him. “I'm guessing that you felt that too?”  
  
Bonesaw nodded earnestly. “It was a strong one. It was close. Someone's just now triggered.”  
  
He smiled. “Shall we go see?”  
  
Her eyes lit up. “Ooh, can we?”  
  
“Anything for my little poppet.” His smile was indulgent.  
  
“Can I have the policeman too?” she asked.  
  
He nodded. “Shatterbird; bring him on board, then clean up the mess. Siberian, come with us, please. We might need help extracting our poor newly-triggered parahuman from those around him. Or, we might need to just kill him.”  
  
Silently, as she did everything else, the black and white striped woman rose from her seat. She pulled a long coat and a hat from an overhead bin, and put them on. Thus clad, she could pass for normal, if one did not look too closely.  
  
As they climbed down from the bus, floating shards of glass were already scooping up the dead police officer from the concrete; ignoring this, Jack set a brisk pace toward the nearby high school.  
  
“You think it's in the school too?” asked Bonesaw.  
  
Jack beamed down at her. “Yes, I do, poppet. Why do you think so?”  
  
Bonesaw thought about that. “New triggers tend to be in the mid teen ranges. As a high school, that's the largest concentration of teens in our vicinity. The law of averages says it'll be in there somewhere.”  
  
“Well done,” Jack praised her. “I've got a much simpler reason.”  
  
“What's that?” she asked.  
  
“It's simple. High schools are hell on earth. If anyone is likely to trigger anywhere, it'll be in high school. Whether it's the cheerleader who's just found a zit, the nerd whose girlfriend just dumped him for a jock with half his IQ, the teacher who just can't take it any more … oh, the possibilities are endless.” He waved his arm. “Can't you just  _smell_  the angst?”  
  
Bonesaw wrinkled her nose at him. “I think you're making fun of me.”  
  
He grinned and tousled her blonde curls. “Only a little bit, poppet.”  
  


<><>

  
They entered the school, Jack courteously holding open a door for Bonesaw and Siberian, even though he was fully aware that even a locked door would pose no barrier to the latter.  
  
“So what are we looking for?” asked Bonesaw.  
  
“Fuss,” explained Jack. “Bother. Commotion. If someone triggers in a high school, people are going to hear about it. It's going to attract attention. We just need to listen for it.”  
  
From farther up the corridor, at that moment, they heard a distant banging and screaming. Bonesaw looked at Jack. “Like that?”  
  
He nodded. “Like that.”  
  
They quickened their pace.  
  


<><>

  
Taylor screamed and pounded at the inside of the locker. The stench was overwhelming; she'd already thrown up. And there was something happening to her mind, she was going insane in here -  
  
With the sound of popping metal, the door opened; the combination lock clattered to the ground. Taylor half-fell from the locker, still fighting, swinging, clawing. She was seized, held, in an iron-hard grip. Still, she continued to fight, to struggle, to scream.  
  
“Phew, what a stink!” observed Bonesaw over the ongoing racket. “Are you sure this is the new trigger?”  
  
Jack nodded judiciously. “Certainly. Don't you think this would qualify as a trigger event?”  
  
“Probably,” allowed Bonesaw. “But I can check, once we get back to the bus.”  
  
“In the meantime, poppet, could you perhaps quieten down our guest, so that she doesn't draw too much attention?”  
  
“Oh, sorry.” Bonesaw pulled a syringe from a pocket of her apron, and expertly injected its contents into the girl's arm. Moments later, the new trigger – tall, skinny, brunette – was limp in Siberian's arms.  
  
As they walked from the school, Jack took his razor out again and amused himself by flicking the ugly detritus from the girl's legs to the ground.  
  


<><>

  
**One Week Later**  
  
“So she won't remember a thing?”  
  
Bonesaw smiled at Jack. “Just that you're her daddy, and I'm her little sister, and she likes to make her family happy.”  
  
“Any idea what her powers are?”  
  
She tilted her head. “Bug control, I suspect. They've been acting oddly around her.”  
  
He raised an eyebrow. “This could be interesting. We've been needing a replacement for Winter.”  
  
“Want me to wake her up?”  
  
“Sure.”  
  


<><>

  
Taylor gradually blinked her way awake. This wasn't her bed …  _oh._  She remembered something … a dark smelly place … being rescued … carried away by strong arms.  
  
Someone handed her glasses to her, and she looked through them at the smiling man standing next to her narrow bed. “Dad?” she asked faintly.  
  
He smoothed her hair back from her forehead. “Right here, poppet,” he assured her. “You've been very sick. Your sister and I have been very worried.”  
  
She tried to sit up; he helped her, with a pillow behind her back. “But I'm okay now, right?”  
  
He nodded. “Yes. Everything will be all right now.”  
  
She smiled and hugged him. “I love you, Dad.”  
  
He kissed her on top of the head. “I love you too, poppet.”  
  
A slight frown. “You normally call me kiddo.”  
  
He rolled his eyes. “Sorry, my bad. I love you too, kiddo.”  
  
She smiled, and relaxed into the hug. She was with her Dad, and everything was all right.  
  
And the bus rolled on through the night …


End file.
